Dancing With A Wolf (M: Strong Language)
by Winter Is A Magical Time
Summary: Zachary Goode is known as one of the best assassins in training. Though he loves time in the P&E room, his heart yearns for action. When he finally gets a call for a mission, Zachary finds out he has to babysit a teenage girl while her parents are out on a mission. But there's a catch. Cameron Morgan doesn't know about this. And she's not supposed to. (Full sum inside. Zammie)


Zachary Goode is known as one of the best assassins in training. Though he loves time in the P& room, he's heart yearns for action. When he finally gets a call for a mission, Zachary finds out he has to babysit a teenage girl while her parents are out on a mission. But there's a catch. Caerom Morgan doesn't know about this. And she's not supposed to.

At first, Zach just assumes he's going to keep her safe from any threats, that is, until he starts becoming a threat to her as well.

Falling in love was never the plan. Somehow, his mental blueprints got messed up, and now, Cam and Zach must run for their lives.

How far will Zach go to protect the love of his life before the wolf in him decides to come out?

 _ **~Zachary Goode~**_

All the boys stood at attention, not one blinked, slouched, shifted from foot to foot, or even dared to breath a fraction louder than was needed. We new the consequences if we did, and it only took one punishment to get it through our heads that we have to stand in perfect order- no curved line, not slouched shoulders, and no heavy breathing.

Fear was the enemy. At least, that's was what we were taught. Because with fear, there were mistakes. With fear, there was hesitation. And most importantly, with fear, there was always an option; and options, were for cowards.

"If you pathetic _rats_ think you can get away with that little stunt you pulled, then I'm going to have to set some of you straight." Sargent Tom Sanford's voice boomed louder than thunder half the time, constantly spitting out verbal attacks to make us less of a wimp and more of an unbreakable, emotionless version of our selves. Sargent Solomon stood behind Sanford, his feet spread exactly one foot apart- no more, no less, while his hands were folded behind his back. I watched his face closely- jaw set, eyes forward- hoping to see some type of emotion there. Maybe then I could get an early reading on what our punishment was going to be.

No such luck.

Sargent Joe Solomon was a man that had only two facial expressions. One was of calmness, the other, pure rage. Although I've never seen him mad, I hear that it's the worst thing anyone could ever encounter. Like two weeks ago, when some idiot tried to sneak out after curfew to steal a couple of wine bottles from the kitchen in the West Wing. Solomon happened to be on patrol, and when he saw the kid carrying five cold ones, he nearly killed the stupid kid. There was yelling and beating, cursing and spitting. I was told Solomon's face was redder than the sunburns we'd get doing runs in the summer. His eyes turned black and big, almost as if he were turning into some inhuman creature.

Solomon had taught us that emotions were for the weak. That we'd never succeed if we let our guard down. That's why he masked his face with nothing but a blank expression. It didn't take long for our brains to become brain washed, taken apart, and reconstructed to be made to what ever they wanted it to be.

A few hours ago, a group of seniors had decided it would be funny to pull the code black alarm. Well, they didn't exactly think it was funny, but it was a more comical way for them to escape. They were probably the very few that knew what we were doing was wrong. They didn't like what they were re-designed to be. I did. I like what I am now. Because I'm strong. I'm smart. And I can over power anyone with the pull of a trigger.

We all can. And because the power feels so good, most of us become hungry for it.

"I should just shoot you right now!" Sanford yelled. One of the veins in his neck bulged out in rage as his jaw clenched and his chest fell and rose rapidly.

The man looked like he was literally going to explode.

"We're so fucking dead." Grant Newman whispered beside me.

I guess you could say we were friends. Although 'friends' is a pretty strong word. We were more like acquaintances. No one here really had 'friends'. Friendship meant you had to have trust, and trust meant you had to believe what the other person said no matter what. Trust can get you killed faster than you can say 'damn I'm an idiot'. So instead, we had a group of people we hated and we had people that we just didn't care about.

I didn't answer him. My breath was too important to me and I didn't want to waste it on and idiot.

"Ten laps around the perimeter of the school!" Sanford shouted, once again, almost popping a vein, "Two-hundred push-ups, then a twenty minute plank." I almost fainted right there.

Ten laps?! Ten laps around the school?! My mind couldn't comprehend how anyone could do that with in a good thirty-five minutes. The wole perimeter added up to 1.587451 fucking miles! Those other numbers might not matter to you, but to the people running ten of them, they do. They matter a lot.

"When I blow this whistle, I better see every one of you run. Slackers will get an extra mile for every minute they're behind!" Just as dear ole Tommy was about to blow the whistle to what would soon be our death, a voice cut him off.

"Hold on, Tom. I need four of them to come with me." All the boy's eyes shifted to Solomon, who, during Sanford's rant, was talking on his phone. It didn't take a mind reader to know what we were thinking. 'Please be me. Save me from this torture. I'll do fucking anything!' It was in their eyes. Hope. I scoffed in disgust while looking at the two mistakes my fellow boys were making. Basically an embarrassment for the whole school's ego and rep.

They showed emotion. They showed _hope_. Not only did they let their guard down, but they had the audacity of showing hope like a fucking sissy!

Sanford glared at Solomon for interrupting his favorite part of the day, but let him speak anyway.

With out even looking at us, Solomon called the names of the boys he needed, writing something down on his clipboard he spoke.

"Nicolas Andrews, Jonas Andrews, Grantary Newman, and Zachary Goode, please come with me." I mentally sighed in relief, but kept my face emotionless.

The four of us walked across the field we were at, silently scoffing at the losers now running the school. At least, I was.

We got to Solomon's office in no time. Grant and I stayed close to the door, ready to run into battle at any time, while Jonas took his place on a wooden chair seated near Solomon's desk as Nick lazily stood by the wall, leaning on it like any 'bad boy' girls swoon over would.

Yeah, I know about girls. It's not like we live under a rock. Well, I don't any way. You don't get the Wolf as your code name for nothing- or your status as 'best of the best'. Even though none of the Zombie Sargents ever see me, the boys here know exactly what goes on behind closed room doors.

I only gather a few guys who I know won't get me caught. I take my laptop, and exactly at 12;03 PM every Saturday night, three random guys and I leave our hell and walk three miles to the nearest city, grab our fake IDs, and party at the most hard-core bars all night. Hot girls, different beers, whiskeys, and what ever other drinks there can create an awesome escape form reality. My first time was three years ago, some skank was totally wasted and I had nothing better to do. Who knew bathrooms aren't actually that bad of a place to have sex?

Leaving the school isn't as easy as 123 though. Hacking into the security system, hiding with three big guys when security walks by, getting past the electrified and wired fence, and hiding from spotlights the outside patrollers out side constantly shine is a challenge any given day. But the great escape of loud music, thumping bass, and good times is well worth it.

So no, I don't live under a rock. I know very well how a girl's mind works. Dirty and hot, not an ounce of innocence what so ever.

"What do you need, Sir?" Grant asked as Solomon typed random junk on his computer. We waited in silence for our Sargent to answer. I didn't know what he was typing, but it took a good 5.3759 seconds for him to finish before looking up at us with that same emotional mask on.

"I have chosen you four for a mission."

* * *

"Who knew Solomon had a kid." Was the first thing that came our of Nick's mouth as he threw a duffle bag and a bunch of clothes on his cot. I rolled my eyes as I did the same.

"He doesn't have a kid you idiot." I grumbled, "She's his _Goddaughter_. Her parents left on some mission for the CIA and we have to keep an eye her due to threats given to her parents."

Yup. You heard right. My first real mission. My ticket out of this place. A real reason to do what I can do and what do I get? A fucking babysitting job.

That's right. Miss Cameron Ann Morgan. Daughter of the CIA's most legendary spies yet; Matthew and Rachel Morgan. A seventeen year old chick that thinks her parents are professional marine photographers who travel the world helping scientist discover new aquatic animals.

The best spies in history and that's the best lie they can come up with?

Solomon must think we're a joke. Maybe this is to get back at me for all my sneaking out. I'd rather run the school all day in 100 degree weather than babysit some stupid girl for who knows how long!

"Dude, you look like you're going to pop." Grant said with his hand waving in front of my face. I shook my head, snapping myself from my daze, "I'd appreciate your brain guts not getting all over my stuff thank you." I glared at Grant, deciding that he was the best of any to take my anger out on.

The dimwit raised his hands in surrender and went back to packing.

Because in twelve short hours, bye bye Maine, and hello Roseville, Virginia.

 ** _~Cameron Morgan~_**

"Cam, three o'clock, I repeat, _three o'clock_!" Macey whispered in my ear. I rolled my eyes at her boy crazy personality, but couldn't help but let the blush rise up my neck and into my cheeks.

"Gosh, Mace, please stop. I don't like him like that." I whined. Okay, so maybe that was a lie. A pointless one since she knew it as well, but I didn't know what else to say. Josh Abrams is one of the most good looking, well known, and well loved kids in school. Why get my hopes up? Living in denial is more safe than being rejected and humiliated.

Macey took a fry from my lunch tray and threw it at me. I glared as it settled at the base of my bra, a place where I could only take it out if I were in a bathroom unless I wanted guys wolf whistling at me as they watched my reach my hand down my shirt.

"Don't bullshit me, Cam. We all know you wanna fu-" Macey, than heavens, was cut off as Rebecca, better known as Bex, and Liz sat down.

"What is Cam bullshitting you about now?" Bex asked as she shoved her burger in her mouth. ...Because she's a lady, and ladies apparently like ketchup and mustard dripping down their chin. Liz giggled at our British friend. Yes, Bex is British. She's also black and loves to make sure we don't forget that.

"Josh keeps staring at Cam as if she's a nice piece of juicy stake. Cam is pretending it doesn't affect her." Macey explained as she twirled a lock of her thick black hair while reading some fashion magazine.

My friends are totally opposite from one another. Besides the fact that we are all girls, not one thing is the same. Bex, for example, moved here from England about ten years ago with her parents. When it comes to sports, she's a maniac. No one, not even the president, can ever get in the way during football or soccer. Girls fear her in basket ball and she dominates in wrestling. But outside the dirty and sweaty fields and courts, her tomboy persona is replicated in black skinny jeans, bright green Jordans, muscle shirts somehow found in Hot Topic and all those other highly priced clothing stores, and her trademark Tony Hawk snapback yours truly got her for her sixteenth birthday. Sighed, might I add.

Macy is completely opposite. Honestly. One time, in PE, we were playing basket ball and all she could complain about is how ugly the color of the ball was and how it totally didn't match her outfit. ...Then came the time we had to practice catching a football. Not only was she freaking about sweating, but at one point a ball broke her nail. After that, well, lets just say Macey is allowed to not participate if she never ever opens her mouth in PE again. I'm sure her scream made the gym teacher worse than his 80 year old eardrums already were. Her dad, the mayor, probably complained to the school as well, upset that his little princess got 'hurt'.

Then we have little Lizzy Sutton. Book nerd, southern bell, and clumsy as any one could be. She has blonde hair cut in a bob that makes her look adorable, and is one of the shortest seventeen year olds ever. Well, I guess others are shorter than 5'1, but still. She's short. Liz is the smartest person in the whole grade, coming up high with a 101 point average. She has scholarships lined up out the door and already accepted to Princeton.

And me. Little miss no one. Out side of my three friends, the only time I ever get noticed is in PE when we play doge ball. There, everyone sees me. And it's not a good thing. It's not like it matters. Okay, so maybe it does. But what can I do? I'm the most average any girl could get. I have dishwater blonde hair, stand at 5'3, not fat or overly skinny, not pretty or ugly, and have the most unnoticeable name ever. So of course no body would ever notice me. Especially Joshua Abrams. Football's team captain and star quarter back always dates the cheer captain, and that is most definitely _not_ me.

"Mace, this isn't the time or place to be talking about Josh." Liz explained, saving me form enduring another lunch period listening to Macey obsessive comments on how Josh and I would make the cutest couple. As much as I want it to be true, I know it will never happen, so why fantasize? "Cam just wants some peace and quiet. Right, Cammie?" I smiled and nodded as I got up to throw my food away.

Our school lunch trays were a horrid yellow color. Not even mustard, golden, orangy-yellow. It reminded me more of puke. It doesn't even make sense anyway. Our school color is purple.

I smiled at the lunch lady as I set down my tray. Her name was Heather. I liked talking to her, not only because she was nice, but she was also old and it was nice to listen to her stories from when she was younger. Though she repeated many of them, I was glad I could let her relive old times. Today, she decided on telling me about when she snuck out of the house to go to a party with her boyfriend. She told me this story last week, but I pretended like I never even heard it before.

"Oh, my father was furious!" She laughed. "The old man heard us talking outside when we came back and marched onto our front porch with his shotgun loaded and pointed at Samuel's chest. Boy had a good three seconds to run before my daddy would shoot." When I first heard this story, I thought she really meant her dad was going to shoot the dude in the chest. She later explained that he would only shoot next to the boy's foot to scare him.

"By, Heather." I said once she finished her story. She smiled and waved, going back to washing dishes.

"Hey, Cam." A voice greeted from behind me. I turned around, wondering who was talking to me and why they even wanted to. "I was wondering, could I have your number?" My eyes became round, almost as if they were to pop our of my sockets and onto the ground.

Did Joshua Abrams really just ask me for my number? _Me_?!

As I was freaking out on the inside, I kept a calm face on the out. Well, I hope it was calm looking. I wouldn't want to look too excited. Then he'd be running for the hills just to try and get away from my crazed grin.

"S-sure." I said. Josh grinned and pulled out his phone as I listed off my phone number. He thanked me and left, leaving me to wonder if what just happened was real, or one of those cheesy fantasies a girl randomly gets about they guy they're crushing on. One look at the girls told me that Josh really did just ask me for my number along with the buzz on my phone and the message 'Thanks, cutie~ J'.

The hottest guy in school asked for my number... and called me 'cutie'.

I just died.

* * *

The rest of the day went by in a blur. I had a stupid US history test that I most likely bombed, a lecture in English about how disrespectful we all are towards classic books that we are forced to read, and oh, we played dodge ball in PE today.

I was still in the locker room, finishing changing and putting deodorant on when the anouncments came on.

"Will Cameron Morgan please report to the main office. Cameron Morgan, to the main office. Thank you." The office lady said over the loud speaker. I sucked in a breath as my body became stiff.

Was I in trouble? Did I do something wrong? Are my parents okay?

So many questions rang through my head as I pulled on my shirt and shut my locker.

You see, I never get in trouble. I'm a good girl that always follows the rules. I do well in class, I participate in gym, and I stay after when I need help.

So many possibilities were going through my head as I walked down the halls of Roseville, High. I ignored the few passing students while thinking about my parents. The very people who every girl wishes were always home to kiss her goodnight and take care of when they're sick. My parents always send a home doctor to the house to make sure I'm okay while they're in Australia taking pictures of who knows what. Sure, they love me. But I just wish they loved me enough to stay home for at least a good full month. I mean, aren't I supposed to be more important than coral and seahorses?

Before I knew it, I was walking through the entrance of the main office. My hands became sweaty as I waited for whatever it was they called me down here for.

"Hello dear." The front desk lady said with a smile. I smiled back, somewhat relieved as it didn't look like anything bad was going to happen. "There are going to be some new students starting tomorrow. Would you mind showing one of them around?"

 _New students? I don't remember hearing anything about new students._ I mentally shrugged it off and nodded.

"Sure, that'll be no problem." The lady smiled and handed me a paper. I looked at it, finding it was the new student's schedule. We had almost the same classes, only a few switched around.

"His name is Zachary Goode."

* * *

 **A/N: Heeeeeyyyyyyy! I have not updated Hot Mess in a long time. Are you guys still even interested in it? Anyway, IT's late so this is gonna be short because I'm already half asleep.**

 **Please Please review! Thank you!**

 **How do you like this so far?**

 **sorry for any mistakes and typos and stuff. My phone is being complicated today so sorry for my stupid autocorrect/suggestion thing. (The only part of the iPhone C that I hate). Goodnight/morning/afternoon.**


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